


Voulez-Vous?

by firstlovelatespring



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Dramatic Irony, F/F, French, Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-08-09 22:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20124883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstlovelatespring/pseuds/firstlovelatespring
Summary: Mona is frighteningly good at French. Or maybe just frightening in general; Spencer hasn’t decided yet.





	Voulez-Vous?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [timbre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timbre/gifts).

> Happy rare pairs exchange, timbre! I hope you like this! I loved your letter and had a lot of fun writing this prompt.
> 
> A million thanks to [Kayson](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4630957/Kayson3259) for looking this over and for lending me her encyclopedic knowledge of the PLL canon.
> 
> Finally, some logistics: This takes place during season 2. Hover over the French to see the English translation.

“_Merde,_” Spencer swears to herself, crossing out another line of precisely inked French in her notebook.

“Hey, what did that sentence ever do to you?”

Spencer jumps. “I swear, Mona, you’re like a vampire.”

Mona pouts, considers, and then settles on a smile, like she’s trying on reactions. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Spencer smiles too, because of course Mona will. She taps her pen against the table a couple of times before answering, measured, not really expecting Mona to understand. “Sequence of tenses. That’s what that line did.”

Mona looks down at the page and shakes her head in commiseration. “_Je déteste le passé-simple. Certainement c’est le temps le plus difficile. C'est pour ça que j’ai toujours préféré vivre au moment présent._” If her accent weren’t straight out of a 20th century art film, the wink that follows would be cheesy.

Spencer finds herself too distracted to respond with anything other than the truth. “I didn’t know you spoke French.”

“Oh, Spencer,” Mona says, flashing her teeth. They’re awfully sharp and white—maybe Spencer wasn’t too far off with the vampire thing. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Spencer shivers. Except, there’s nothing to shiver about. This is supposed to be the moment where Mona walks away and Spencer goes back to wrestling French tenses, alone with her notebook and headphones. All things considered, nothing out of the ordinary should happen. Spencer thinks of her friends, off chasing an honestly unlikely lead on A. She thinks of Toby, working in Yardley, how badly she wants to call him and how much it hurts that she can’t now that they’re broken up. And then, before the moment of walking away can truly begin, Spencer swallows, puts her shoulders back, and does the impossible.

“Mona, will you help me?”

Mona sits down on the bench beside her, crowding Spencer with her perfume and lip gloss and charm. “I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

Mona is frighteningly good at French. Or maybe just frightening in general; Spencer hasn’t decided yet. Either way, a “text me whenever” turns into standing Thursday night study sessions in Spencer’s bedroom. The AP exam is months away, but Spencer can never be too prepared.

They’re sprawled on Spencer’s bed tonight practicing for the speaking portion of the exam when Spencer’s phone vibrates. “_Et,_” she says, picking up her phone and thinking about how to answer the prompt, “_je voudrais— _” Spencer reads the text and loses her train of thought. 

“_Qu’est-ce que tu voudrais?”_ Mona asks, twirling her hair and frowning. 

Spencer has a habit of stopping and starting over mid-sentence when she’s not happy with what’s come out of her mouth, and Mona has been helping her break it. But this isn’t a case of perfectionism. It’s amazing how every time Spencer manages to forget about A, another cryptic text message appears on her phone. 

“It’s— It’s nothing,” Spencer says, shaking it off. It’s not nothing; it’s never nothing. But texting the others about A’s newest message can wait. Right now, she wants to practice French with Mona, be practice being a normal teenager for one godforsaken hour since Ali’s disappearance. Mona doesn’t particularly look like she believes it’s nothing either, but at least like she’s willing to pretend for a little while, too.

Spencer powers off her phone and takes a deep breath. “_Je voudrais,_” she continues, “_passer plus de temps avec toi._”

Spencer sees a lot of herself in Mona—the fierce ambition, the willingness to do whatever it takes to come out on top. And Spencer always looked down her nose at Mona, because all that drive was going to waste on fashion, makeup, popularity; but the more time they spend together, the more Spencer can see that isn’t true. Mona is sharp in ways she never expected, more than just French. Sharp in ways that matter.

Mona looks up, like she can tell that Spencer’s been staring. She smiles, and her lip gloss catches the light. It occurs to Spencer that they’re sitting very close. 

“_Dîtes-moi, est-ce qu'il y'a quelque chose sur la visage?_”

“_Non_,” Spencer says, and Mona leans in to brush the hair out of her face. She always smells so good. Not like the perfume Melissa or her mom wears, subtle and professional and muted. Mona is bolder. Like, she might not have it all together right now, but she could, and then you’d better watch the fuck out. 

Mona blinks at Spencer, and it hits Spencer how completely in control of this situation Mona is. She could just laugh and sit back and brush this touch off like it’s just something teenage girls do, or she could act on what’s between them. But Spencer doesn’t have any power to make that decision. She’s pinned under Mona’s red-nailed thumb.

It’s like being around Alison, Spencer thinks. When they were younger, she watched Alison enthrall boy after boy to get what she wanted, teasing and fluttering her eyelashes and leaving little touches, always stopping just before actually making a move.

Mona, though. Mona doesn’t stop. Spencer can tell she’s about to do it, has plenty of time to turn her head or jerk back or push away, even, if she didn’t want Mona to kiss her. She doesn’t do any of those things. She sits there on the bed and kisses Mona back. Kissing someone else has never been so thrilling, like such a surrender of control. Spencer pulls Mona on top of her on the bed, and finds she doesn’t quite mind.

* * *

Spencer’s phone vibrates.

“Who is always texting you!” Mona says, taking a sip of her skinny iced latte. They’ve taken to getting coffee during their mutual third period free. “Is it Toby? He is looking seriously fine lately.”

They haven’t talked about the other night. Spencer’s thought and thought about it, picked it apart from a million angles to guess what Mona must be thinking. So really, she shouldn’t be surprised that Mona’s still talking about boys. It’s not like they’re dating; Mona doesn’t owe her anything at all. Spencer doesn’t quite want to date Mona, anyway. Her life is already enough like a waking nightmare to add this to the list of things a literal stalker could use as blackmail.

Spencer checks her text, and oh, how could she be so naive. Staring back at her from Spencer’s phone screen is _Not the first study buddy you’ve frenched with ;). Bisous, -A_. Spencer nearly drops her black coffee.

It was only a matter of time before A found out about Mona. (What is there to find out, really? They’re not dating, Spencer reminds herself. They’re just friends.)

Mona frowns at Spencer, and between that and the text, Spencer just does not have it in her to come up with a convincing lie. Besides, maybe Mona could help them with the whole A thing. Put her powers to use for good.

“It’s not Toby,” Spencer hedges. “My friends and I have been getting these texts…”

Spencer gives Mona the short version, and Mona listens, rapt. It’s maybe the first time outside of a chemistry lab that Spencer’s seen Mona without that all-knowing confidence, that seemingly omniscient smirk. It’s strangely… human.

That night, they make out on Spencer’s bed. Mona plays with the hem of her shirt, scrapes her perfectly manicured nails over the small of Spencer’s back. A pen is digging into Spencer’s leg, but she doesn’t want to take her hands off of Mona to get it out of the way.

Spencer hasn’t forgotten about the A text. She can never really forget about A, but decides now that she’s willing to fight for this. Spencer won’t be intimidated into breaking off another relationship—not, she reminds herself, that there’s anything to officially break off. And she’s not worried about Mona like she was for Toby. Gossip, revenge, drama; this is Mona’s natural habitat.

* * *

“You didn’t call Hanna, did you?” Spencer can’t look at her, says it to the wall: “Because you’re A.”

“Congratulations, Spencer. You figured it out.” Mona sounds almost disappointed it took her this long. 

And Spencer is— There’s no question she’s scared. They’re in a motel in the middle of the woods and Mona is underneath that black hoodie and _armed_ and she knows _everything_, is the one who’s been terrorizing her and her friends for the past few months, but Spencer maybe… isn’t as scared as she should be. 

Mona walks towards her, and Spencer’s not sure if she’s going to hit her or kiss her or both. Spencer swallows. “Please,” she says. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Mona doesn’t seem to hear her. She frames Spencer’s face with her hands against the wall. Spencer has more than a couple inches on Mona, but it feels like Mona is staring down at her.

“I had to get you out here alone so we could talk.”

Spencer nods, barely daring to breathe.

“You had to earn the right to be a part of it.”

Now that Spencer’s pretty sure Mona isn’t going to shoot her, she takes a moment to think about “being a part of it.” Racing one step behind A for these past few months has been nothing short of agonizing. There’s never before been a puzzle Spencer couldn’t solve, an answer she couldn’t find by working harder and longer and better. Even now, she has been _allowed_ to find out. Mona has always had the upper hand, and now she’s extending it to Spencer.

Spencer isn’t, realistically, going to betray her friends. She should be mad at Mona; no, she should be _livid_ at Mona for everything, but that doesn’t make the temptation any less. So Spencer can indulge, just for a moment. Just until her friends arrive.

“Why did you bring me here?” Spencer asks, even though she knows why. Spencer is the weakest, the least principled and loyal, the most likely to betray her friends. She knows why Mona brought her here, and yet Spencer masochistically waits for Mona to say it.

“You’re the strongest, Spencer.”

Mona kisses her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. Spencer doesn’t move.

“I admire you. That’s why you get to decide how this ends tonight. You can join the A team,” Mona breathes, and Spencer closes her eyes, “or you can disappear.”

There’s at least another twenty minutes until Hanna, Aria, and Emily will be here. Then, Spencer will disappear. For now, well. That’s a different story.


End file.
